Carroll talks to me over the sound of an organ projecting from a Yamaha keyboard.
Like his three brothers, Art, the Nevilles' keyboard player, has his thing on the side—the Meters, the band he took to Europe.
Up until five minutes ago, I felt like a cloistered nun interminably praying at a keyboard for words and sentences to materialize.
He tapped the down arrow on his keyboard, scrolling through what was on his computer screen.
Art led the family starship on keyboard and did his own good share of singing.
She smiled again with understanding, and turned to the keyboard.
But these, alas, never have been trained to command the keyboard.
I could lie in bed and by reaching out my hands touch the keyboard of the little rattletrap of an instrument.
And she too got up, drawing her hand lightly along the keyboard of the piano.
She drew back with a gesture of instinctive refusal as Jimmy poured the money upon the keyboard of the piano.